Claiming The Spare Twin novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Window

Finlay climbs to her room and they finally give in to the mate bond, until he asks her not to tell Odette yet.

My mother's wrist stayed locked in his hand for a long, silent breath.

"Let go of the Beta, Alpha MacDougall," the old elder said, tapping his staff on the stones. "The Count is not finished."

"It's finished," Finlay said, without taking his eyes off my mother. "The Moon already answered. The Council can hear me at dawn."

He let her go.

Nobody in the courtyard moved.

Odette wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "Go to bed, Linn," she said softly. "We'll sort it out tomorrow."

She even tried to smile.

I walked back through the house with three hundred wolves staring at my back.

I locked my bedroom door, sat on the edge of my bed with my heart going like a rabbit's, and pressed both hands against my stomach.

The pull was still there, hot and low and insistent.

It felt like being hungry for something I had never eaten.

At two in the morning, the window rattled.

I didn't have to look. I had watched Finlay climb that trellis a hundred times when we were twelve, with stolen cookies in his jacket.

I opened the window anyway.

He swung over the sill and stood in the dark of my room, breathing like he had run all the way from the border.

Rain had started outside. It beaded in his hair.

"You're going to be in so much trouble," I whispered.

"I know."

"You're supposed to be with her."

"I know that too." His voice was rough. "I've known for two hours that I can't."

He took one step. I took one back, and my legs hit the bed.

"Finlay, we've been friends since we were eight."

"I know exactly how long."

"You've never looked at me like that."

"I've never been allowed to." He lifted his hand and stopped it an inch from my cheek. "Tell me to go, Linnea."

It was a dare, and we both knew it.

I took hold of his shirt in both fists and pulled him down to me.

His kiss was desperate, as though he had starved for ten years.

His mouth was hot and hard, and I opened for him at once, tasting rain and smoke and something that had always been him.

A low sound came out of his chest, and I felt it down to my knees.

He backed me onto the bed.

I yanked at the buttons of his shirt and he gave up on them and dragged it over his head.

I had seen him shirtless a hundred times at the river when we were kids.

I had never put my hands on him.

His shoulders were broad and hot, and the muscles of his stomach jumped under my palms.

"You're shaking," he said against my throat.

"So are you."

"I can't stop." He dragged his teeth along my collarbone, and I arched into him. "Linnea. You smell like every good thing I've ever wanted."

I got my hands into his hair and pulled his mouth back to mine.

He worked my nightshirt up and over my head and looked at me in the dim light.

His hands were huge and rough. They cupped my breasts and his thumbs dragged over my nipples until I gasped.

"Louder," he murmured, and took one into his mouth.

I cried out, and the sound startled me.

I had never made it before.

His hand slid down my stomach and under my underwear, and his fingers found me soaking wet and ready.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Is this for me?"

"It's only ever been for you," I said. "I just didn't know it."

He stroked me slow and deep, circling my clit with his thumb until my hips rolled against his hand and I begged him with no words at all.

"Please," I managed. "Finlay, I need you inside me."

He tore the last of our clothes away.

For a second he held himself over me, his cock heavy and hard against my thigh, his dark eyes burning.

Then he pushed into me, slowly, filling me inch by inch.

I gasped and dug my nails into his back.

It stung for a moment, and then it only felt right.

"God, you feel good," he groaned. "You feel like home."

He started to move.

Slow at first, long deep strokes that made the bed creak, and then harder as I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him in.

"Harder," I said.

"Linnea."

"I want all of you. Do it."

He grabbed my hips and drove into me, a raw, desperate rhythm, his breath hot at my ear.

The sheets stuck to my back. The room was full of the sound of our bodies.

I felt the heat building in my belly, tighter and tighter, and I clung to him.

"I'm close," I gasped. "Don't stop."

"Never." His hand found my clit again and he rubbed it in fast circles.

I came with a cry I had to bite into his shoulder to muffle.

My whole body clenched around him, and he swore and slammed deep and came with me, shuddering, his face buried in my neck.

We lay tangled together while the rain ticked on the window.

His heart was pounding against mine. It slowed, a beat at a time.

I traced the line of his spine with my fingertips and thought: this is mine.

Then he lifted his head, and his face had gone troubled.

"Don't tell Odette yet," he said quietly. "Not until I figure out what to say to the Council."

The warmth in my chest went out.

I stared at the ceiling.

I had been somebody's secret for ten years, and it had taken me exactly one night to become his.

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